Say Goodnight
by ShadowWeasel
Summary: Jesse makes a meager earning as a hunter living alone in Armadillo. But after losing his precious five dollars to the infamous headhunter John Marston, he's forced to go hunting with the most dangerous man in the west in an attempt to get it back. And things go to hell when Marston doesn't turn out to be the hero everyone said he was. Say goodnight, friend. Say goodnight.


Jesse wiped the sweat from his brow as he entered the cool shade of the saloon. He sighed in relief at the escape from the blazing desert-sun. His feet carried him to the bar and he instinctively ordered a drink.

"The usual, Jesse?"

"You know me well, Mister Franklin."

Franklin laughed hardily from behind the counter as he grabbed up a bottle of whiskey. Tipping it on its side just right, the golden liquid poured out and splashed into a crystalline glass. The shot slid across the wood and landed in Jesse's gloved palm. He threw his head back and drank.

The cheery air of the tavern burst into wild happiness as the musician in the corner began to play the piano. The staccato of ringing keys shook the foundation of the building and deafened the patrons with music. Women giggled as drunken men chased them around the tables in a childish game of cat and mouse. The papery flapping of playing cards was sprinkled into the noise as Dell Hopkins dealt everyone a hand for a round of poker.

Jesse observed the card game with envious eyes as he requested another drink. He knew full-well he could never afford to go off and gamble away his earnings like the high-rollers he saw strutting about Armadillo. He was a simple man with a simple occupation; he was a smalltime hunter who sold his trophies for two dollars a pop down at the general store. Herbert Moon was generous enough to give him the minimum price for his game, whereas Jed Murphy over at the gun shop wouldn't pay over five cents for his wares. But to make matters worse, Mister Moon had been gone for some time with no sign of returning any time soon.

So, Jesse had been left to pawn off his pelts to the merchants off over in Hennigan's Stead for a dollar each. He had become so desperate he was tempted to catch a train headed to Thieves' Landing to search for a better trade, despite the awful stories he had heard.

But the life of the gambling-man had always seemed glamorous to him, nonetheless. Again, his eyes skimmed over the table of men, each of them chatting amongst themselves in tones just quiet enough to be deadened beneath the thundering notes of the piano. Jesse pondered over the pros and the cons, took one final swig of whiskey, and marched over to the table with an alcoholic high granting him a boost of confidence.

He pulled up a chair and seated himself between a man with a mustache and a fellow in a gentlemen-like suit and tie. Both wore hats that shaded their features.

"Set me up, mister," Jesse demanded, laying down his prized five-dollar bill.

The dealer collected his money and gave him a handful of cards. Jesse snatched up the cards and held them tightly to his chest. His gaze shifted warily to and fro to make certain that no one was sneaking a peak at his hand. The man in the suit chuckled at the sight.

Jesse sent a glare his way, to which the man replied with a tip of the hat and a grin from the shadows. The game went on. Cigar smoke clouded the air as the hours began to pass. Banter between the players kept the night alive as the musician's fingers retired for the night. The mustached man on Jesse's left slapped down a card and picked up a fistful of chips from the green table.

"Did you all hear about the bandits over in Pike's Basin?" the man asked casually.

For a minute, no one responded with anything besides a grumble. Jesse only shrugged; he certainly knew about the roughnecks down in the canyon, but what did this mean to him? He only had to remember to steer clear of there when he was out hunting.

But then, the suited man slid a hand of aces onto the tabletop. Everyone around him paused and stared wide-eyed at his cards. Jesse gulped; there went his five dollars. The suited fellow didn't say anything for a moment as he gathered his winnings. He faced the men with a frown on his scruffy mouth.

"They're gone," he said, "sorry to disappoint you, friend."

Not one of them spoke.

Then, the mustached man murmured, "Damn… someone cleared them out, huh?"

The suited fellow nodded and stood from the table. "Yes sir," he replied. "I made sure there wasn't a soul left in that hole."

He left without another word, toting Jesse's five dollars with him. There was a minute and a half of silence as the men took a moment to let the shock sink in. Dell Hopkins was the first to speak.

"Hot damn! That there was John Marston!"

"Ain't he the feller that shot up Mo van Barr?"

"The very same."

"I heard he gunned down a pack of wolves on foot."

"That's nothing; I heard he went toe-to-toe with two cougars."

"He had nary a gun, neither; just a rusty hunting knife."

"Man's a legend."

"That there Marston's a hero."

"He's a cold-blooded killer."

Jesse only heard echoes of these words. He let the remnants of his high do his thinking as he pushed his greasy hair from his face and stood to leave. His boots assaulted the hardwood floorboards as he pursued this John Marston. Hero, legend, killer… none of that meant anything to him; that man had his money.

"Marston!" he called out, exiting the saloon and entering the cold, sandy road that cut through town. "John Marston!"

Halfway down the road he found him, standing on the wooden steps that led up to the train station. Marston stopped at the sound of Jesse's voice, turning to face him. He had just put on a long, bulky duster-coat, with the scars of the desert upon it. The same grin he had sported at the poker game was on his face.

"Howdy," he greeted nonchalantly, almost happily.

"Don't 'howdy' me, Marston," Jesse spat, drunk and mad. "I come for my five dollars."

John paused for a split-second, his face flickering as his smile faltered and turned into a look of confusion. Then, he recovered; his smirk larger now, and took a bundle of bills from his pocket. He offered it back to the angry drunk.

"Means that much to you, you're more than welcome to it," he said. "I got plenty at home. Besides, I don't hardly use that stuff no more."

There was an odd pause as Jesse realized what was happening. Dulled as his senses were, he never expected for Marston to actually return his money to him, and without reason, to boot. Was this John-fellow drunk as well?

"H-hold up," Jesse stuttered, processing the information. "You just giving it back, just like that? That don't make no sense."

The mysterious man called Marston shrugged. "That money obviously means a lot to you. I figure I don't rightly need it, and you came a-hollering for it…"

Jesse froze. His brain started to work again as he realized what this man was implying. "You insinuating I'm poor, mister?"

John stopped, looked up at Jesse with a mocking look of innocence, and responded with, "You said it, partner. Not me."

The drunken man snapped, his frustration reaching its peak. He shouted, "Why you arrogant piece of shit! I don't need that money! You little…"

At this, the man laughed, amused by Jesse's words. "Alright now, alright!" he retorted, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Simmer down, son. There's no need for harsh language. Tell you what, how about you earn this here five dollars back instead me just giving it to you? Would that be satisfactory?"

Jesse growled, doing his best to control his temper. This Marston was as irritating as the sand in his boots. He was more than a little surprised he hadn't reached for his gun to put him in his place. But he forced himself to think logically; earning back the money? That was an honorable proposition, and that way, nobody in town could call him a beggar.

He sighed, "Fine. Fine, mister; you got yourself a deal. Now what's the job?"

John's outrageously large smile grew another size. "Glad to see there's no hard feelings," he remarked. "The job's simple enough, don't worry. See, I hear tell you're a pretty good hunter, Jesse."

Jesse's eyebrows arched. How had this stranger learned his name? He certainly hadn't told him.

"So, listen," the man continued, "I was just heading out to do some hunting. I reckon you want this five dollars, you'll accompany me and help me bag some game. What do you say, friend?"

Against his better judgment, Jesse agreed.


End file.
